I like not working. I like it very much. I have a new job and it’s called LOOKING. It’s all I do. No errands, no to-do lists. One thing after another is calling for my attention in the garden. I wander in my pajamas from plant to plant.
The pride of madeira is screaming. Here is what she says, “blue blue blue blue blue!”
I am so glad she put on her show before I leave town on Tuesday.
An old cottage is meant to have resting places for plants nailed on its walls.
Less is not more in my back garden patio.
A tangled thicket of soft vines and purple in the iron bathtub. Something new is blooming there.
While I piddle around in the back the cat posse lounges about. Everything I know about resting I learned from them.
There is a line between real and imaginary, but I don’t know what it is. Neither does storybook bird back for a drink of blue.
A frothy sea of white spills over the bluff in the back.
I am reminded of a line from a book:
Floating upward through a confusion of dreams and memory curving like a trout through the rings of previous risings, I surface. My eyes are open. I am awake.
That from the first paragraph of my new book, Crossing To Safety by Wallace Stegner. I will carry it to Italy. I am a slow reader of novels. Too much time spent staring into space and thinking about things. Underlining passages. Reading, staring, reading.
Tomorrow I will start thinking about packing. Someone hide my camera!